


The Eastern Glow

by MissViolet



Series: Headley Grange [1]
Category: Led Zeppelin, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Driving, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marijuana, Musical Instruments, Porn with Feelings, Songwriting, Tea, Trucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 06:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissViolet/pseuds/MissViolet
Summary: After writing The Battle of Evermore, Jimmy and Robert go for a ride in the Land Rover and naughtiness ensues.
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Series: Headley Grange [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194467
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	The Eastern Glow

**Author's Note:**

> Filthy, shameless porn. Don't say you weren't warned.

Robert sat in the great room reading by lamp-light. Jimmy sat next to him, smoking and staring moodily at the fireplace. They were the last two up at Headley Grange, relaxing, not speaking, sharing an intimate and creative connection which, when they were alone, was more than a little romantic.

“Rain tonight,” Robert said absently, without missing a page in _Land of the Scots_.

Jimmy didn’t answer, just crushed out his cigarette and got up to stroll around the room. He picked up Jonesy’s mandolin. Playing put his mind at ease, harnessed his nervous energy, and made him a more genial and relaxed companion. He sat at a high stool in the hallway and plucked out a haunting tune with his usual finesse, as polished as anything he’d played on his many guitars. 

“When did you learn to play _that_?” Robert asked. The delicate intricacy of the notes had made him stop reading and sit up to listen. 

“Just now,” said Jimmy, strumming away effortlessly. He bent his head to better see the mandolin in the dim lamp-light. Repeating the same riff, he threaded it together into a plaintive, summoning kind of melody, curiously soothing and impending at the same time. 

“It sounds haunting. Quite lovely,” Robert said, putting a marker in his book. So the guitar wizard was also a master of the mandolin. Surely the man could play anything with strings. He removed the Parker pen from behind his ear, clicked it, and tapped it against his mouth, listening and thinking. Finally he took out the marble-topped composition book where he penned his lyrics and began to write. 

Jimmy, pleased with his own arrangement, played on. His verse became a song, a call-and-response that permeated the dimly lit great room. The next time he began his refrain, Robert sang softly:

_The Queen of Light took her bow,  
And then she turned to go,  
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom,  
And walked the night alone._

_Oh, dance in the dark of night,  
Sing to the morning light.  
The dark Lord rides in force tonight,  
And time will tell us all._

“It’s good, Rob,” Jimmy said, his voice betraying a hint of excitement. “Write more!” He tinkered around with the melody and the riffs and the turnaround while Robert composed the verses in his notebook, both of them lost in the flow of artistic concentration. For long moments they were occupied, with only the soft notes of the mandolin and the scratching of the pen as they worked together peaceably. 

Robert found himself wool-gathering instead of writing the closing refrain the song needed. His mind, distracted as he was with the Highland clans of yore, was never very far from the knowledge of Jimmy’s nearness. Last night, in bed, how he had moaned and pleaded as Robert drilled him! Then, after smoking and talking and sipping good bourbon, it had been Robert’s turn to surrender as Jimmy fucked him to a wild and soul-shaking spend. He dropped his pen limply, his daydreams a curious combination of medieval Scottish battles and the erotic stamina of his lover. 

Jimmy put down the mandolin and tugged the notebook from Robert’s hand. He studied the lyrics carefully, casting his eyes between his loopy Tolkienish script and Robert himself. He read the words with lighting speed and re-read them (turning the pages, for it was long). Then he abruptly closed the marble notebook and looked piercingly at Robert.

“The Battle of Evermore, hmm,” he said in a neutral voice, but his moss green eyes sparkled with pleasure. He nodded, almost as if to himself, and handed the notebook back to him, taking the opportunity to touch his hand, to linger there intentionally, making Robert’s heart skip a beat. After all they had done together in the Welsh cottage, in hotel rooms, in dressing rooms on tour, after all the heated intimacy of their most private moments, he still felt unsure of himself musically. Was Jimmy his patron, his mentor, or his muse? He could be exacting in his critique, a compulsive perfectionist when it came to songwriting. 

“There’s a standing stone near the hill fort. Reminded me of a great battle,” Robert said apologetically, anxious to move the subject away from the ballad he had written so quickly. “I could show it to you.” 

Jimmy looked at him imperiously, ignoring the invitation altogether. It was the look of the bedroom, his eyes heavy, mouth quirked in a little smile of encouragement. The mood, the ambience in the great room, suddenly shifted from physical and creative to intimate and downright sexual. 

“Let’s go, Rob,” Jimmy said, picking up the mandolin again. “Jump in.”

Robert felt his pulse skittering, his heart racing. It was the same kind of thrill as seduction, this creative spark between them. He sang his verses alternately soprano and alto and his voice seem to harmonize effortlessly with the mandolin. To fill the gap, he improvised at the closing:

_Oh now oh now oh now oh, oh now oh now oh now  
Bring it back, bring it back, bring it back, bring it back!_

It worked perfectly to end the song, and Jimmy let the last note fade hauntingly. It was a masterpiece of a ballad, and they grinned at each other in victory. Jimmy put the kettle on, and Robert wrote out the last verse in his notebook. 

They gave it another run-through while they waited for the kettle to boil, and both were even more pleased than with the first go. Robert’s voice sounded lush and full in the high-ceilinged room, and the stone hearth and slate-paved hallway gave just the right amount of echo to Jimmy’s delicate, flying fingers on the mandolin. His unfamiliarity with the instrument added an extra dimension to the song that Robert found utterly charming. 

“We need a chick singer. Every other verse, maybe.” Robert told him. He poured out the tea, practically glowing with happiness. Nothing gave him the satisfaction of rattling out really good lyrics, except, perhaps, an interlude in Jimmy’s arms.

“Why? You sound grand, honey,” said Jimmy, adding canned milk to his tea with a displeased moue. There was no refrigerator at Headley Grange. 

“The home and hearth aspect of the battle, light and shade, you know…” said Robert. He thought the song needed a woman’s voice, but there was a certain pleasure in yielding to Jimmy, musically and otherwise. He nibbled on a digestive biscuit, his mind drifting between ancient Scottish lore and his passion for the guitarist.

Jimmy did not reply, but merely stirred his tea, making the teaspoon ring against the edges of the thick china cup. Not replying was his trademark; they had gotten accustomed to unspoken words, to the nonverbal intimacy of touch. The emptiness of the manor house was like a third element, a presence that hinted at things to come between the two songwriters. 

Robert found himself staring at Jimmy’s neat elegant feet in their oxblood court pumps, at his long fingers wrapped gracefully around the teacup as he sipped. In the lamp-light his black curls gleamed; his skin glowed like porcelain. 

“What about I show you that standing stone?” he asked him again, to fill the silence.

“Is it raining?” Jimmy asked lazily. Then he stretched out his legs and leaned back into the horse-hair sofa, staring back at Robert boldly, with a hint of a smile on his delicate lips. He knew he was being admired, the coquette.

“I’ll take us out in the Land Rover. You can borrow wellies,” Robert said, making the decision for them. He was dying to unbutton that flashy pink cowboy shirt and make love to him on the sofa. But he also wanted Jimmy to see the stone, to understand his fascination with the ancient lore. He pointed to an indistinct collection of green rubber boots in the double-doored foyer. Resigned, Jimmy sat on the bench and slipped off his expensive Carnaby Street shoes. He jammed the stovepipe cuffs of his borrowed jeans into the tops of the boots with distaste.

Robert dumped a bag of PG Tips into a vacuum flask, added a shot of condensed milk and two sugar cubes, and topped it all off with boiling water. He winked at Jimmy, because he knew he hated teabags, insisted on loose tea at his own house. They were in the country, and roughing it. 

“Take these,” Robert said, handing him a thick cardigan and a wool travelling rug. He tucked the flask and the packet of biscuits under his arm. 

The truck was cold, and they sat idling to let the engine warm up. Headley Grange had a long driveway, and several gates, which Jimmy obligingly got out to open and close before they headed out through the hilly verdant valley and out along the main road to Hampshire. 

Robert knew the twisting country lanes well. He enjoyed driving and handled the Land Rover with ease. Jimmy watched his hand on the gear-shaft, and on the wheel, and gave him affectionate and approving glances, in between looking out the window at the splendor of the English countryside. 

The standing stone loomed over a sheep-bitten pasture in a deep valley, the distant hills dotted with purple heather, the road lined with a low wooden fence. It was a narrow structure, covered with lichen and moss, a mere seven feet high, but clearly man-made and ancient. It faced west, as if overseeing the turf all around it against intrusions. Robert parked the Land Rover at a respectable distance. 

“The old folks remember a ring of other standing stones around it. Knocked over by sheep, probably,” he said, laughing nervously. Perhaps he had over-sold it. Surrounded by bare scree and a sagging wire fence, the stone might be nothing to his hot crush, with fancy London shoes, his cosmopolitan ways.

Jimmy studied it intently, saying nothing in his quixotic way, but glancing at Robert occasionally, as if taking his measure. Robert passed him the vacuum flask. Jimmy held it without opening it, smiling his catlike half-smile. Both were high with the erotic thrill of completing a song, of being alone and together in the rugged and isolated countryside, contemplating an ancient relic.

”It looks best when the sinking sun reaches the crest of Pilot Hill, right behind it. The stone will be limned with light,” Robert said. 

“Limned?” Jimmy said, soft and sultry. “Nice word. Lyrical, even.” He sidled closer.

“The alpenglow, it’s called.” Robert’s cheeks flushed hot, though he wasn’t sure if Jimmy was praising him or teasing him or just plain coming on to him.

“The eastern glow, like in our ballad,” Jimmy said, and he settled the question by resting one hand heavily on Robert’s thigh.

Robert’s heart skipped a beat, and his pulse skyrocketed. He caught the scent of Jimmy: wood-smoke and cigarettes and bay rum. A little sweat; he had taken a turn at splitting kindling for the fireplace. It was intoxicating, maddening; he felt the blood rush to his face and an electric throb of lust in his unruly cock. Jimmy’s cherry lips were half-parted as he caressed Robert’s thigh until Robert tensed and trembled under his hand. He turned in his seat, leaned in for a kiss, awkwardly knocking the flask onto the floor. It rolled between Jimmy’s legs, and he bent to reach it.

“Leave it,” Jimmy told him sharply, burying his hand in Robert’s curls, tugging his hair, pulling him upward into a fiery kiss. Robert met his lips eagerly, losing himself in the heavenly sweet, divine pleasure of kissing on a deserted little country road, waiting for dusk. Jimmy’s kisses were deep, hot, and wet. He held the back of Robert’s neck, stirring up all his passions, making him whimper. The kiss quickly got out of hand, open-mouthed, with a little teeth, a little tongue, Jimmy panting, Robert a half-second from tearing off all his clothing. 

“The alpenglow,” Jimmy sighed. “I don’t want to miss it.” He caught Robert’s wrist and pushed his hand away from his cowboy shirt, but not before his quick fingers had opened every snap to expose his bare skin.

“Cocktease,” muttered Robert. He was achingly stiff, but he bent low for the dropped flask, taking his time finding it, letting his arm rest in Jimmy’s lap, brushing against the bulge between his legs, thinking of how easy it would be to unzip him, and from there, limitless possibilities for a hot frolic in the front seat.

“The rock is limned with light, darling,” Jimmy said in a strained voice. He tugged Robert’s hair, gently pulled him upward again. 

Robert sat up, disappointed. He was dying to go down on him, or at least to frig him while they kissed. He had intended to make Jimmy lose control, to wrench sweet helpless moans from those pretty lips. But Jimmy merely gazed at him, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, green eyes burning with lust and passion. Coolly, he retrieved a joint from his cigarette case and lit it with the dashboard lighter. 

Robert unscrewed the flask and poured out the tea with unsteady hands. His cock throbbed, but he could wait until they got back to the Grange. He sipped at the hot tea. Jimmy, he noted with satisfaction, had a raging hard-on.

They took in the majestic sight of the sinking sun blanketing the pasture, rimming the standing stone with a brilliant pink glow, a lordly presence in the deserted landscape. The light intensified, illuminating the heathery hills, outlining the stone, casting an eerie glow over the fields. 

“It’s like burnished rose gold. Spectacular,” Robert said. He took a long puff, Jimmy a long drink, and they exchanged cup and joint, switching back and forth until they were pleasantly high. Both were thinking of Robert’s fictional battle between the queen of light and the lord of darkness. They watched the dusky landscape in stoned contentment, enjoying the last of the biscuits, the last of the tea, and the last of the Hampshire daylight. 

“Take this,” Jimmy told him, trading him the joint for the cup one last time. “I’m high as a kite.” 

Robert took a final drag and then carefully stubbed the joint out in the dashboard ashtray. The pinkish radiance receded to an ordinary twilight, and the sun sank behind the distant hills. The moon emerged, a white sliver. There was a damp chill to the air. Jimmy shrugged into the cardigan, and Robert pulled the rug around his shoulders. The songbirds, active at dusk, abruptly stopped their chirping, and the countryside was blanketed in darkness. In the distance, a pair of grouse flew off, as if abandoning the pasture for better lands. 

The stone was even more majestic at night, a looming presence that seemed uncomfortably close to the Land Rover. They sat in the pitch dark, acutely aware of each other. The Series II Land Rover, with its low gear shaft and a wide bench seat, practically invited a hot make-out session. Jimmy circled his arm around Robert’s shoulders, and Robert leaned in, awkwardly knocking the flask down to the floor, again. 

“Clumsy,” Jimmy whispered, making it sound like a compliment. 

Robert took the empty cup from Jimmy and playfully tossed it on the floor along with the dropped flask. Outside, the air was cold and crisp, but inside the truck was suddenly cozy, warm, and intimate. He took off Jimmy’s cardigan and cast it aside, slipped the cowboy shirt from his shoulders, before kissing his rosy, panting lips, covering his neck with soft love bites that made Jimmy shiver. 

“Want to get loose?” Robert asked. He caressed his bare chest, tweaked his nipples, kissed him madly until both were breathless. He slid a hand between Jimmy’s legs, stroked his hard cock through the denim. That he was wearing Robert’s own jeans was somehow maddening, enticing. He unbuttoned them, cupped his straining prick through the fabric of his shorts.

“Yes, oh, yes,” Jimmy sighed. “Go on, you tart.” He bucked his hips to push his erection into the palm of Robert’s hand. Generally he was slow and sweet in bed, but then naughtiness of the situation, parked in a lane, half-dressed, like teenagers, and the possibility of being sucked off in the front seat of the Land Rover, had him hard as a rock. 

Robert bent low to tease him, using his lips to trace the outline of his cock, fixing his mouth to the straining bulge, blowing hot breath through the fabric, feeling Jimmy harden and sigh and scrabble desperately. Robert slid his shorts down, pulled at the fabric of his jeans to expose his gloriously hard cock. Then he sat up and took him in hand, stroked him a few times, just a little warm-up, in between hard and biting kisses. 

Jimmy opened his mouth, kissed him greedily, and spurred him on with whispered blandishments and dirty, loving words. Robert’s heart raced with longing for his dark-haired prince. Oh, how he wanted to make him spill into his hand! But it would be even better in his mouth, for Jimmy was a moaner, a hair-puller, and that always set Robert off. He bent low to touch his lips to the head of his straining cock, delicately, daintily tasting him, making them both shudder in anticipation.

“Oh, go down on me, honey,” Jimmy moaned ecstatically, his dick throbbing and pulsing under Robert’s lips. He rested his hands on the back of Robert’s head, lightly, but meaningfully. Tenderly, Robert licked the length of his hot shaft, from his full bollocks to the sensitive head. His teasing tongue lashed the slit and the sweet spot just below it, before he finally took him deep in his warm wet mouth. Jimmy shifted his hips to give him greater access, moaning softly _oh, oh, Rob, baby_. 

It was thrilling to make the composed and polished Jimmy Page fall apart under his clever tongue. Robert applied himself vigorously to his luscious task, resting his head on Jimmy’s thigh as he licked him, tongue-lashed the most sensitive spots, sucked him deep. He tried to prolong it, to suck him slowly, purposefully, to a powerful, controlled climax, but Jimmy began to tremble, to thrust his hips. Hot for his spend, he held Robert’s head firmly with both hands, burying his fingers in his hair, arching his back as pleasure deepened. With a wanton moan of pure lust, he was there, spurting, bucking his hips, flooding his mouth as he pulled Robert’s hair wildly. 

“Oh, suck it, suck it!” he groaned as his cock pulsed out its creamy tribute to Robert’s loving tongue. Robert grasped the base of his cock and lightly, teasingly, licked the sweet spot beneath the head, coaxing out every last drop, making Jimmy flinch and shudder in ecstasy as worked him into an agony of bliss. He tossed his dark head and gasped with delight, quivering with delirious, white-hot pleasure as his prick throbbed out its juices. At last, with a deep-drawn sigh, he pushed his head away, and his exhausted cock slipped from Robert’s lips. 

Robert sat up, neck slightly cramped, but overall pleased at the result: a devastated, half-dressed, pink-cheeked Pagey still panting for breath. The masterful blow job had sapped him utterly. Between the strong weed, the satisfaction of songwriting, the eeriness of the landscape, and not the least his thrilling orgasm, he looked a little unsettled, but there was the familiar languid bliss that always followed their erotic antics. 

“That was, hmm, not too bad,” said Jimmy playfully. 

“Oh, you loved it, babe. All that moaning and hair-pulling,” Robert said smugly. He carefully buttoned Jimmy’s fly, and slowly, intimately, reached into his front pocket to fish out the cigarette case, caressing his hips and thighs through the tight jeans. 

“It _was_ a scorcher.” Jimmy admitted. He rolled down the window, letting the cool night air into the overheated interior. “Not sure I could do better,” he said, his arch look somehow conveying just the opposite. Jimmy prided himself on making Robert spend so furiously that he more than once nearly blacked out from an excess of emotion. 

Clearly there was some sort of erotic debt implied, but Robert was in no hurry. He still had the horn, and could barely look at his darling’s tousled hair and flushed face without feeling the blood rush to his groin. But he felt a sense of peace descending on him, a delicious satisfaction in making Jimmy come in his mouth. He peered through the windshield at the standing stone, thinking of the impending night, the bedroom at the manor house, and all they might do in it together. 

Now that his initial lust was satisfied, Jimmy was capable of the kind of unhurried fucking that meant shattering orgasms for Robert. He could go for hours, thrusting and pounding and rocking into Robert until they both came together with groans of delight. Or maybe it would be Jimmy’s turn to submit himself to Robert’s passion. He would start slow, with plenty of lube, until his big cock glided right in, and then he would ravish Jimmy until he was senseless. Love-making could go either way when the two of them had all night to indulge their passions. Jimmy would certainly come a second time, if not a third, and as for Robert, fainting with rapture was always a possibility. Not that he minded, with Jimmy’s arms to catch him. 

Lost in his erotic reverie, Robert unconsciously leaned forward to start the key in the ignition to get his love back to the house as soon as possible, but Jimmy covered his hand with his own. 

“One must rise to meet life’s challenges,” he said, kissing him out of his lustful fantasies. It was a gentle and sweet kiss, for he was thoroughly sated, but Robert wasn’t. His cock fairly ached, so thrilled was he by Jimmy’s hot, moaning climax. Jimmy rested a hand between his legs and stroked him until his cock throbbed through the tight denim. 

“Touch me, babe,” Robert begged. And then his hands were everywhere, sliding his tee-shirt up, unbuttoning his low-slung jeans, making him tremble with anticipation. He gasped with delight as Jimmy took him in hand and brought him to a glorious cockstand, expertly stroking his throbbing dick, slow enough to be maddening, fast enough to make his pulse race. Jimmy’s delicate fingers moved up to his nipples, pinching them into sweetly aching points, Then back down to his cock again, squeezing tightly, too tightly, making Robert jump and gasp, before he resumed the leisurely long strokes. It was luscious, but Robert wanted him to go faster, just a little faster. He was on fire as Jimmy caressed his belly and hips, cupped his bollocks, whispered endearments, bit his neck lovingly, and stroked his deliciously hard cock.

“Lovely stiff one you’ve got,” Jimmy whispered in his ear, lips brushing his neck, making Robert shiver. He tickled his cock just beneath the head, the sweet spot, now wet with glittering clear fluid that he smeared in a slow circle with his thumb.

“Fuck, do it to me,” Robert cried out. He was dying of want, aching to come. He longed to thrust himself into Jimmy’s delicate, rosy lips until he spent under his teasing tongue, but he was so turned on by the light and subtle touch of his fingers on his overheated cock that he never got a chance. When Jimmy began to stroke him with a steady and determined rhythm, Robert instantly got so randy that he came during an especially deep and soulful kiss, a hard, gaping, dirty kiss that ended with his shameless moan.

“Oh, how is it, baby?” Jimmy asked him, kissing relentlessly as he jerked him, long luscious strokes that made him quiver as his come jetted out. 

“So good,” Robert groaned as he shuddered through his climax. It was a bit of heaven, a divine hand job from the nimble-fingered Jimmy, who stroked his throbbing cock tenderly, racking him off in the most delicious way as he creamed all over his fingers. He frigged him mercilessly, until at last Robert’s thighs tensed and he caught his breath with a moan of blissful satisfaction. 

“Is it too much for you?” Jimmy crooned in his ear, but he knew it was, the minx. His belly and cock were wet with come, and still Jimmy stroked him. With a murmur of protest, Robert stopped kissing him long enough to grasp his wrist and push his hand away from his sensitive, overheated dick. 

“I meant to suck you, but you came like lightning,” Jimmy said affectionately, pleased with his handiwork. He bent low to kiss his softening cock, and to taste the come pooled on his belly, as if bestowing a promise for next time. Then he took a clean handkerchief from the pocket of his cardigan and mopped him dry before buttoning up his impossibly tight jeans 

“The night is long,” said Robert. He started the Land Rover, and dug around in the glove-box until he found a roll of Trebor’s Extra Strong Peppermints. “Unwrap one for me, love.”

Jimmy peeled off the paper and put a mint in Robert’s mouth. Robert took the opportunity to kiss his fingers, the fingers that had just teased his cock to a most delicious spend. Then he maneuvered the Land Rover down the steep pasture lane. He sped along a little too fast in the dark, twisting roads, feeling reckless, noting with perverse pleasure Jimmy’s discomfiture at his speed. He thought to himself of a trick or two he had for soothing him.

“Don’t miss that turnoff, now,” said Jimmy. 

“I suppose you owe me,” Robert said casually, zipping around a particularly blind curve in the lane, taking the opportunity to put an arm around Jimmy as he drove. The energy between them was once again heavy with anticipation.

“Or do you owe me?” Jimmy asked, leaning into his shoulder. “That was a stellar hand job.” 

“Bit of both, I suppose,” said Robert. They were at the gates to Headley Grange. Jimmy knew the routine by now, and he jumped down to open and close them. Robert parked on the gravel drive in front of the house. He began to collect the travelling rug and cardigan and the vacuum flask.

“Leave it all till morning,” Jimmy told him. He got out and came around the driver’s side, opened the door, and pulled Robert out. They embraced, head to toe, and the full-bodied heat was exquisite. They were clearly game for another hot go-round. They kissed, mouths open, tongues twining as Jimmy pressed him against the truck.

Robert imagined Jimmy, on his knees, in the muddy drive-way, sucking him. His pulse began to race as his cock stirred with interest. He would call in his chit right there. Then it began to rain, lightly, but piercingly enough for them to stop kissing and walk up the flagstone path to settle up their erotic debts indoors, against the dark of night.


End file.
